


A Love that Burns Hot Enough to Last

by oneforyourfire



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Warming, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 14:04:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19889047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/oneforyourfire
Summary: "Wanna sit," he confesses into his cupid's bow. "Wanna warm."





	A Love that Burns Hot Enough to Last

**Author's Note:**

> they don't use lube, idk sue me about it

The jacuzzi tub in their bathroom is always tight fit, not big enough for two, or the two of them at least. But that's never stopped Chanyeol or Junmyeon. Never been excuse enough to deny themselves. 

And Chanyeol, he only has to ask. And Chanyeol, he already has. 

The water is steaming, bubbly, vanilla bean fragrant, and Junmyeon's skin is warm, smooth to the touch, perfect, perfect sliding against his own. It's a tight fit, but Chanyeol sighs in contentment, as his knees knock against the edge of the tub, as behind him—be the big spoon, hyung, be my hyung, hyung—Junmyeon laughs, shifts. 

It's a squeeze, a maneuver, a feat, worth it. And Junmyeon's lips drag between Chanyeol's shoulderblades, eyelashes kiss against the nape of his neck, arms wind around his middle, cradling.

And moments like these, they're Chanyeol's favorite. His tiny, tiny hyung holding him close, holding him steady, murmuring soft, sweet nothings as he kneads into belly, his waist. 

So soft. So warm. So handsome. So precious. So pretty.

And hazy and lazy and loose. 

Moments like these, perfect like these, they leave Chanyeol's skin tight, tight with emotion, with sentimentality, leave him aching, leave him starving. 

It's a tight fit, a squeeze, a maneuver, a feat, abrupt clumsy, the way Chanyeol turns in his arms, scrambles into his lap, the way he kisses him, too. Abrupt, clumsy. Loud, too. Playful, too. Smacking, too. 

Then again.

Then again. 

Then again. 

Clumsy, abrupt, sentimental, aching, starving, wanting, wanting, Chanyeol kisses him heated and insistent and intentional, kisses to swallow every single soft, sweet, beautiful sigh. Kisses until the space between them is charged, crackling, Junmyeon arching, aching, starving, glassy-eyed with desire. Stops only then. 

"Wanna sit," he confesses into his cupid's bow. "Wanna warm."

He waits for his nod, pushes two perfunctory, testing fingers inside of himself. Shudders, gasps. Shifts, slots, swivels, slides down slow and steady and wet and tight and open and shivering and moaning. A tight fit, a stretch, a maneuver, a feat. Chanyeol breathes consciously past it, and Junmyeon hisses, jerks. The bubbles near his waist tremble, break, and the muscles beneath his belly tense taut, taut, taut. And inside him, he pulses, pulses, pulses. 

Their foreheads brush. Junmyeon's tiny exhale tickles against his parted lips.

"Yeollie," he breathes, soft and low and reverent—like a blessing, like a prayer. "Pretty Yeollie."

And oh, Chanyeol likes it most being connected like this, likes the stretch, likes the warmth, likes the way the hair at the base of Junmyeon's cock nestles against his ass, likes the heady throb of him, likes his bitten bottom lip, too, his fluttering eyelashes, his dark, dark eyes. Feels complete and connected like this, useful like this and good and warm and beautiful. And so helplessly full.

Warmth suffuses his entire body. And he sighs in contentment, swivels, shifts, braces himself on the edge of their too-small tub, his entire body thrumming. 

"Feels good," Junmyeon murmurs into his jawline. "So good. Warm so good."

Quivering, Chanyeol tips forward to kiss him lazy and deep, and it shifts Junmyeon's cock in his ass, drags him just so. They both shudder, both moan. 

Chanyeol gropes out to keep the angle the same, hitching his waist as he gasps through the burning, aching friction of it. Loves it with every overwhelmed cell of his body. Reveling in it. A moment like this. Perfect like this. And Chanyeol, aching, starving. 

"Don't get hard," he warns, quaking and gasping through another winding twist of his hips. "Don't move. Don't ruin it. Let me, hyung."

Junmyeon huffs out a weak, breathy little laugh. 

He won't, he promises. But be still, pretty baby. Warm my cock so good, Yeollie. 

Chanyeol hums out another moan, clenches once deliberate and tight, quakes through it, through the curse that follows, too. 

Then again.

Then again.

Then again.

" _Hyung_."

"Just say the word," Junmyeon murmurs into his chin, all low and rough and cajoling and drugging. His hands squeeze reflexively, steadying at this waist, blunt nails digging into his skin."Just tell me when, Yeollie."

But Chanyeol doesn't, twists his hips instead, fucks down, swallows Junmyeon's aborted little gasp. Bites back his own hiss.

And it's so good just exactly like this. So good, he can't breathe. So good, it hurts.

Chanyeol shifts again, finds the best angle, watches his own cock—red and hard, hard, hard—bob above the water as he moves. And again. And again. And again. 

"Pretty Yeollie," Junmyeon gasps. "Let me—let me."

But Chanyeol twists, moans, loves the way he groans, the way he throbs, the dry, heaving drag of his hard cock in Chanyeol's ass. Loves the way his pretty eyelashes flutter, pretty pink throat heaves. 

"Let me," he counters, rising, rising, dropping, dropping slow and fluid and shuddery and loud, the way that always makes Junmyeon's eyebrows pinch. 

Then again.

Then again.

Then again.

Until Junmyeon is gasping for it, kneading helplessly into the sharp jut of Chanyeol's hip bones, come on, faster, pretty Yeollie. Let him. Let him. 

And the tub is too small, but Chanyeol twists back to brace himself anyway, elbows knocking into the painted acrylic, head tossing back in tacit permission. 

And Junmyeon, he gives it to him how he likes it best, squeezes at his hips for leverage, drags him down as he pushes up then again then again then again.

And it's slow and it's deep and it's dragging and it's burning and it's sure and it's steady and it's perfect, perfect, perfect.

His face pinches with the effort. Eyebrows drawn, lip bitten. Fingers tighten, too. Gives it to him right. Gives it to him best.

Best for the best boy, the prettiest boy, his perfect Yeollie.

And there's a quiet, tender urgency to it that leaves Chanyeol breathless, leaves him broken and yes and yes and yes. And Chanyeol, moaning, quaking, clinging, he takes it all of it. His head tosses back, skull crashes against the painted tile, and Junmyeon cradles it immediately afterward, doesn't lose his angle, his pace.

And Chanyeol claws at Junmyeon's shoulder, fumbles to stroke himself off, too, quakes.

Like this, the pleasure it's staggering. It's excruciating. And Chanyeol _has_ to cling to him, _has_ to whimper. Can't help himself, hyung. Is so greedy for it, hyung. Please, fuck, please. 

It coils tighter tighter tighter, climbs higher, higher, higher, crests finally, bursts bright and hot and thick and overwhelming through his veins. 

Clutching at his shoulders, tearing at his skin, Chanyeol sobs through it, past it, quivers helplessly through the aftershocks, too, needs him closer, needs him more, hyung, hyung, please. 

But Junmyeon, he pulls out instead, strokes himself off, whispering the breathiest, sweetest little nothings into his skin. Pretty baby, so good Yeollie, love you, darling, hyung's so close, feels so good. 

Chanyeol bumbles for his waist, then lower, squeezes once at his ass cheek, kneading, teasing just the pads of his fingers against Junmyeon's puckered entrance.

And his hyung shatters and sobs and streaks and shakes and shakes and shakes apart for him. Melts and moans and curls and needs. 

A moment like this, it's his favorite. A tight fit, a squeeze, a maneuver, a feat. His tiny hyung holding him close, holding him steady, murmuring soft, sweet nothings into his skin. Perfect like this and wholly his. 


End file.
